


A distant, plucked, infinitesimal string

by crookedspoon



Series: Weekend Feeling [5]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Injustice: Gods Among Us
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Newborn Children, POV First Person, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-17 02:22:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3511670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedspoon/pseuds/crookedspoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the delivery, Harley begs me to take in her child.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A distant, plucked, infinitesimal string

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompts "It's hard to tell your mind to stop loving someone when your heart still does." at 1mw's [Weekend Challenge](http://1-million-words.livejournal.com/1102184.html?thread=11080040#t11080040), "accidental baby acquisition" at tropebingo Round 4, and "Unrequited Love" at ladiesbingo Round 2.

A sense of dread washes over me as I enter the hospital room, although I can't tell why. Perhaps I'm expecting something hideously deformed, something I don't dare lay my eyes on, but all my apprehension seems unfounded when I spot my sister, exhausted yet glowing, cradle a little bundle of cloth.

" _Hush little baby, don't say a word,_ " she coos, unbound hair swaying across her cheeks as she rocks to the gentle melody. " _Mama's gonna kill for you the whole damn world._ "

The paper around the bouquet I brought crinkles when I lay it on the bedside chair, leaving my purse next to it. Harley looks up, eyes so full of love as I haven't seen them in a while.

"Isn't she adorable?" she asks and shifts the bundle for me to have a better look.

"She's perfect," I whisper, overcome by the sudden urge to fold this little thing against my own breast and protect it. She is nothing short of beautiful, with her mother's cute nose, clear blue eyes and light blond hair. There is no marker of her father in the features, none that I can see, at least. She might grow into them with time, when her baby fat melts away, but for now I can only see my sister reflected in that tiny face. I'm relieved.

"What do you think of 'Lucy'?" Harley asks, not taking her eyes off her newborn child.

"Like the Beatles song?"

"Yes, that," Harley laughs weakly. "You know me too well."

Before today, before Harley came crashing into my home nine months ago, I would not have expected to see my sister in a hospital bed without bruises inflicted upon her by the man she claims is the child's father. I never pretended to understand why she insisted on staying with that maniac – not only is he a rabid animal, but he doesn't appreciate Harley either, from what I've gathered – yet good advice is lost on her and no amount of talking sense would ever bear fruit.

Even as she's stayed with me, her mood vacillated more sharply than the fluctuation of hormones could have warranted: one minute she was beyond elated to carry his child, the next she broke down crying because she missed him. She was sure he must be missing her too, and what was she doing keeping the knowledge of their union away from him?

She has her reasons, some of which are relatable: for one, there is no place for a child in his vision, which Harley sees as self-evident but I don't understand; for another, she doesn't want her daughter to see the kind of life she leads, a criminal and an accessory to murder – out of respect for my sister, I've never asked about her level of involvement in his schemes and how deep she's sunk into the criminal underworld. I burn to know, but don't think I could stomach to look at her if I knew she was a killer, too. I wouldn't be able to sleep well, leaving the child in her arms, in any case.

Despite all of what she's been through, Harley's still so sweet and warm-hearted, and I can't help but think that now she'll be able to turn her life around again. She has a daughter to live for now, and in the months she's stayed with me, no one has come looking to drag her back. Doesn't that mean she has escaped his clutches?

And yet, Harley never fails to surprise me: now that her daughter is born, she wants to go back. I didn't want to acknowledge it before, but she must actually be nuts to consider this.

"You finally managed to get away," I nearly screech, because there's only so much nonsense you can take, "and now you want to give up all that you've achieved in the past months just to be with him again? How stupid are you?"

"Promise me you'll look out for Lucy," Harley murmurs, despondent.

"I will do no such thing. You're going to stay right here and help me raise your daughter."

Harley's fake smile wavers. "Much as I want to, I can't. She'll never be safe with me. Imagine someone were to find out whose daughter she is. They'd kill her just to get back at him. Even if he won't care a whit about it because he doesn't know of her existence, how are they supposed to know all that?"

"She's your daughter, too. You can't just abandon her!" I have trouble keeping my voice modulated so as not to wake the little one we're arguing about. Harley makes no sense sometimes, and it's so, so infuriating, I can barely hold onto myself.

"I won't be abandoning her if you'll agree to raise her as your own. Please?"

Her trust may be flattering, but her irresponsibility enrages me. It's not right to leave your own daughter in the care of others. "Think of the child! She needs her mother."

"I _am_ thinking of her." Tears quiver in her eyes, the sight of which burns in my own. "I cannot erase my past, or what I've done, and I don't want to corrupt this innocent little angel before she's not had her chance at a normal life, a life you can provide for her. If it's money you're worried about, you know I'll cover all the expenses, food, clothing, nannies, even her tuition. You won't have to spend a single cent extra."

I don't ask where that money will come from. Now is not the time to be cynical. "It's not money I'm worried about. It's your safety. You've had such a good time here with me, and no one came after you. Won't you reconsider? Think about it. When you go back, how long is it gonna take before he beats you bloody or leaves you in a warehouse full of explosives? I just—I can't leave you to that danger again."

"I know." Harley's head falls back against the pillow and she stares at the ceiling as if all the answers were written on it. "But I love him. I can't stand to be apart."

I sigh, because I'm running out of arguments. How do you appeal to common sense when your sister is hellbent on following her feelings? The heart is rarely the right guide.

"Stay with us for a while," I say finally. "See how this new life affects you. Even if you still plan on leaving, at least stay until we've settled her in and figured out how to handle this."

Harley can agree to that, however reluctantly. She has never seen this girl as a curse, even though she kept her away from the man she loved most in the world, but she had been looking forward to the delivery more than I was used to from the expectant mothers I knew. She has likely planned to leave the child in my care from the beginning, so that she can return to this horrible man as soon as she no longer had baggage that would compromise her.

Or something like that. Once again, I don't pretend to understand. She's the psychiatrist, and I'm fairly certain not even she can dissect herself.

In the end, she does stay for the while I asked her to. But she is too stubborn for me to handle, or keep in line, and although she enjoys doing all the things a mother does – breastfeeding the child, bathing her, taking her for long walks and explaining everything they see, no matter if the girl can already understand her or not. She even takes in stride the many sleepless nights when nursery songs are not enough to soothe Lucy to sleep.

Nothing seems too much for her. Harley has an overabundance of love for the child.

Yet even that seems not enough.

At the end of Lucy's thirty-fifth week, I come home from work to find my sister gone. Only the girl and a note remain:

I'm sorry, but I told you I can't stay. I hope you can forgive me. I'll send you money whenever I can, which I hope will be often. Just promise me she'll never know who her parents are.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the poem "Supernatural Love" by Gjertrud Schnackenberg.


End file.
